


If you're out there still lying awake

by thp_cara (TheHolosexualPan)



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, The Weight Of Lies (Hermitcraft)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Retelling, Retrospective, Short, Sleep Deprivation, alas, and i had this thought pop into my brain, but short for sure, glamours, is that the right word mmmaybe, mumbo doesnt know grian is a demon, not very sweet, pov swap, so I wrote it, this functions on the assumption that, was rereading the ending of the last chapter in preparation for the update
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolosexualPan/pseuds/thp_cara
Summary: As the phantoms attack, Mumbo comes to understand some things.
Relationships: Mumbo Jumbo/Grian, but it's sorta implied ig
Comments: 4
Kudos: 98





	If you're out there still lying awake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Weight of Lies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027974) by [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin). 



> very short and very rambly and very bad, but honestly, what do you expect from me if not self indulgent bs

The fortress itself is familiar. It’s exactly how Mumbo remembers it, not a brick out of place, though some are left slightly charred as a result of the canon battles Impulse and Tango had forgone almost all to enthusiastically, no new structure added onto it, at least, not on the outside, but somehow it just feels… Different. He stops himself from thinking about it more, though,  _ wrong _ feeling like too strong of a term, especially when he is trying to stay calm for both his own and Grian’s sake. He wonders if Grian knows, if he is aware that Mumbo can see the way his movements are different than usual, how they are slow, cautious almost, like there’s some sort of underlying tension beneath it all, the strings of it hooked into thoughts and muscles so deeply that they leave him trembling, just waiting to break. Internally, Mumbo sighs, his eyes switching between watching Grian’s dark eyes as they follow the shape of the stone walls with something akin to terrified wonder shining in his eyes and analysing the structure himself. They are heading towards a door that guards a room he cannot remember and he trusts the way his gut twists uncomfortably the more they approach it, because it only makes sense, for Team Star to defend themselves as best as they can from what might be, and Mumbo doesn’t want to make his own acting skills seem any less terrible than they truly are, the worst mole to ever exist.

The tensions seem to spread.

Mumbo feels the way his own body goes a bit more rigid and, unconsciously, he begins wringing his hands together, a shudder going through his back at the lacking feeling of feathers pulling themselves close to his body. He brushes it off before the thought can linger, but his eyes still fall onto charcoal smeared wings, instead, and they bristle beneath his gaze, ever so slightly, and then his gaze follows the red of Grian’s sweater, the strands of dark blond hair hanging messily around a pale face and, finally, the soft surface of a pallid, purple adorned cheek.

Grian doesn’t look at him, simply swallowing as he takes the Star Team base in one more time, and Mumbo has to squint, just a little. His brows crease with worry, even if, technically, he knows he is just being paranoid, is letting his overthinking get the better of him, but he can’t help it. 

The dark bags that had hung heavy beneath Grian’s eyes just yesterday are gone, now. They aren’t less dark, nor do they seem to showcase the fact that Grian is resting again by simply appearing less intense and less like actual bruises, no, they are simply gone, and something doesn’t sit right with Mumbo about that, something that makes the concern in his chest increase still.

They are standing in front of the door now, but in the moment they wait there, in the second they both give themselves before actually opening it, Mumbo lets himself think. He thinks about just how nervous Grian had always been about sleep, he thinks about putting him to bed and lingering outside his door, in the sunken ship in a bottle, simply because he had worried about Grian getting out of bed and not getting the rest he’d so desperately needed. All at once, last night comes back to him and Mumbo has to take a small, sharp breath. Grian facing Doc, Grian standing up for him, Grian holding a halberd as though it were a mere extension of his arm, his hold natural and almost familiar,  _ Grian _ .

But as much as his heart still flips out in his chest at that memory, it drops into the pit of his stomach as the feeling of Grian all but collapsing in his arms also returns to the forefront of his mind. He’d carried Grian back to his,  _ their _ team’s base, now, and all the while, Mumbo had wondered just how long Grian had been awake for. The circles under his eyes had been the proof of it, but that isn’t to say Mumbo hadn’t noticed how weak and exhausted his friend had been, beside that, how he’d clung to Mumbo and-

And the thought is almost sweet, almost a good memory, but the edge of Grian’s pain dampens it, makes Mumbo blink before he can gather his wits about himself. The second passes. They are still standing in front of the door.

He tells Grian about his assumptions, asks him for a sign to continue, and Grian nods. It’s almost like the motion dizzies him and, slowly, something almost akin to suspicion begins to form in Mumbo’s mind, but what keeps the emotion together is fear, fear for Grian, fear for someone he… For his  _ friend _ , Mumbo reminds himself, swiftly. 

With a push, steady and strong, the door gives.

Blinding darkness awaits them inside the large room, but the shadows are soon taken apart by small spots of light that Mumbo immediately recognises as phantoms. He’s had his own share of deaths by their tiny teeth, but truly, Mumbo has never seen as many gathered in one place, and only more seem to awaken the longer they wait, tiny green eyes blinking open, grains of sand spreading across nothingness. 

He’s been about to close the door anyway, when it happens. Mumbo knows that they might attack them even if they have slept, and he’d rather not risk it, but all at once, with a flurry of movement, like the stars falling into a storm of their own making against the dark filament of a night sky, they stir and, before Mumbo can blink, they fly towards the two of them, only shrieking sounds and cold currents of air left in their wake. But they’re not heading for them, they’re heading for  _ Grian _ .

The tension snaps, realisation hitting just as the phantoms slam into the door that Mumbo shuts on instinct, even as his eyes widen and fall back to Grian’s shocked face.    
And Mumbo remembers the feeling of holding Grian in his arms, the sensation of soft feathers between his fingers, the tickle of ruffled hair beneath his chin, and right now, as he looks at Grian, as he looks at his face and realises that something is missing, somethings is  _ forced _ , Mumbo can do nothing to help the words that slip past his lips, his hurricane of confusion and terror mixing in and solidifying into a few words he can no longer contain.   
They’re not an accusation, they are a horrified statement.   
“You haven’t actually slept in a  _ long _ time, have you?”

**Author's Note:**

> *vibrates in excite for new update*


End file.
